Chapter Six

Hermione was walking again (if you could call it walking). She was swaying like an trivial drunk person, and she despised herself for it. Not for being trivially foolish, but for leaving her husband... Yet, perhaps for being besotted as well.

It was past noon, the sun moving its speedy yet somehow slow way across the sky and she wondered where she would be by dark. Perhaps on another lonely road with the same broken heart, and it did not matter at all. It was the alcohol talking, but nothing seemed to matter anymore. The world was bleary and she felt only the distant sting of her pain.

Two Days Ago

Mrs. Malfoy sent a formal letter through Owl requesting the wedding folder to be returned for a few "minor changes." Hermione did not understand why she addressed her as "Ms. Granger." It was a cold form of endearment from a person that would soon be her mother-in-law. Nevertheless, Hermione personally went to the Malfoy Manor to deliver it, traveling in the dizzily England rain through the towering iron gates of snakes, through the neatly trimmed hedges and up to the doors of the Manor where she knocked a brass curling snake.

No one answered. Then, when she was inspecting the sparkling green jewel of the brass snake's eye, the doors opened on their own. She walked in, shaking the droplets off of her coat.

There were two grand staircases that hugged the roaring fireplace and empty chairs and bookcases. Despite the fire that heated her cheeks pink, she felt internally cold. Time may have passed and Draco was different, but his childhood home wasn't, and no matter the years that flew by them she would never be comfortable in the place where she was tortured by his aunt.

Hermione wanted to leave quickly. It was a bad idea to go there to prove a point. She intended to leave the folder on the low table, but just as she made her way to do so, Mrs. Malfoy floated down the left staircase, pausing at the sight of her dripping daughter-in-law.

"Ms. Granger."

Hermione sighed, hugging the folder to her chest as if it was possible that if Mrs. Malfoy didn't see the rapid pace of her heart she wouldn't know she was uncomfortable. "Please, call me Hermione."

Mrs. Malfoy ignored her, continuing her descent down the stairs, her hand not quite touching the railing in a regal air. "What is it you have there?"

"The wedding folder you asked for."

"Why did you not use your owl? Is it ill?"

"No, he is not, thank you for your concern." She took a deep breath, wanting to be careful with her words. "I wanted to deliver it personally. After all, we will be family soon."
Mr. Malfoy, appearing behind her, said, "we'll see about that."

"Lucius," Mrs. Malfoy chastised gently, snatching the folder from Hermione.

Her heart was racing out of her chest. Yes, she had made a dire mistake going to the Manor. Without Draco, there was no stopping her fear.

"If you care to check, Mrs. Malfoy, I have made notations on what I'd like."

Her nose upturned. "That's very well, Ms. Granger, but we would like this to be a normal wedding, now, wouldn't we?"

Hermione blushed, and not from the heat of the fire. "Mrs. Malfoy, it will be normal."

"I mean, we wouldn't want a muggle wedding. Our friends will be there."

"So will mine, and frankly, Mrs. Malfoy, you are being impossible. This is my wedding to Draco, and it should be our decision." She spun to Mr. Malfoy, refusing to be off-putted by his stature; she had fought bigger men than him before. "And for your information, I am going to marry your son. That is not your decision either. You cannot control our lives like you are controlling this wedding!"

Mr. Malfoy's eyes hardened, the way Draco's did when he was angry, and she stepped backward from the shock. "My son is making a foolish decision," he seethed, "he'll see that soon enough."

Her eyes burned from anger. "I love Draco. That should be enough."

"Without the right blood, it's nothing."

She shook her head, running out of the Manor without looking back. She vowed never to return again.

Presently

Draco didn't know where else to go. He plopped himself outside of the Cathedrals front steps, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. More than despair, he felt fear that he would never find her. Worse than that was the feeling that she didn't want to be found, and it was all his fault.

He should have still cared what happened between her and Weasley. It burned his insides, but... He couldn't care more for it than he cared for Hermione. Weasley had 7 years and a kiss; Draco planned to have her for the rest of his life.

He remembered long ago Potter mentioning he liked taking muggle transportation. Something horrible called a "bus." Hermione tried explaining it to him. Regardless, whatever it was, it felt like the perfect place to go nowhere.